


Knife

by Jude81



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/F, Feelings lots of feelings, Like a ton of smut, Smut, Violence, but no one dies!, more smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/pseuds/Jude81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Jude81</p><p>Post 2.16. Canonverse. Complete.</p><p>This is what really happened after Clarke held the knife to Lexa's throat. Hint: lots of smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knife

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Short_Stack_100 who gave me some insight as I wrote!
> 
> The First (maybe) Annual Clexakru smut-off!  
> 4 authors have entered with the one job of writing smut involving Clexa for your votes.  
> 2 extra authors were added to help throw some people off
> 
> The only rules are every author involved in the challenge must post their competitors as co-authors. Every fic must be submitted to this collection to be considered.  
> The only mandatory tags are: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin & Lexa, smut  
> All other things like titles, tags, ratings etc...are up to the author. Authors will be revealed the same time as the winner.  
> The winner will be decided by the number of KUDOS in exactly one week.  
> Votes for each fic will be counted through KUDOS, in the event of a tie BOOKMARKS and finally HITS will be counted. Comments will not be taken into consideration in this challenge.

She wondered briefly how they had arrived at this moment, her pressed against a wall with a dagger at her throat, an angry and broken Clarke with wet eyes pressing her too thin body into Lexa’s. Gone were the soft curves she remembered, in their places was all sharp angles and protruding bones.

But Clarke was always backing her into walls, and Lexa was always allowing it. So really, she probably shouldn’t have been surprised. She also shouldn’t have been surprised by the burning anger that threatened to spill out of her eyes in drops of salt. And yet for some reason, she found herself speechless and hesitant, unsure how to speak with this version of Clarke, a version that she admitted with considerable regret she’d had a hand in creating.

But here. Now. She wondered if it was time to push back, to do more than just say, _get out._ But she said nothing, some unknown fount of wisdom telling her it was time to keep her damnable mouth shut for once. Anything she said would probably end in bloodshed. Her blood.

But those beautiful, wet blue eyes had always made something inside of her twist and tremble, and now was no different. She licked her lips and was surprised when Clarke’s eyes widened a fraction and her gaze followed her tongue.

Perhaps all was not lost. She wanted to test it, wanted to know if buried somewhere under all that pain and anger, Clarke still wanted her. If she had dared snort out loud, she would have for there was no way Clarke’s _not yet_ would ever be a _It’s yet._

So she slowly, carefully flicked her tongue out, letting it scrape across her bottom lip, and those blue eyes followed every movement, as she circled her lips with her tongue, and she felt almost giddy knowing that at the very least Clarke still wanted her. True, she probably wanted her on the ground and bleeding, but Clarke wasn’t done with her yet. And that meant there was hope.

Hope. Damnable, painful hope. But still she let it flicker and blossom inside her chest, and it seared and ached as she gazed deeply into blue eyes, forgetting about the bladed edge just barely pressing and scraping the delicate skin of her throat.

She let her eyes fall on to plump, but chapped pink lips, and remembered the feel of them under her own, the taste of Clarke’s mouth, and she so desperately wanted to lean forward suck the blonde’s lower lip between her own. She wants to nip it and run her tongue across it, savor the feel, the taste of it between her own lips, in her mouth.

But she doesn’t because she sees how wet her eyes are, she sees the pain twisting her lips. She can feel the anger thrumming through the girl’s tight muscles, and she’s sorry. She is so damn sorry that she has caused this pain. But she doesn’t say it. She can’t say it. She can’t acknowledge what it would mean. Her people always come first. Will always come first, and they both know it. And so they are at a stalemate.

“Why?” The word is hushed, broken, tinged in stale bitterness as if Clarke had been holding it in her mouth behind the cage of her teeth for far too long. It was rotted and poisoned, and Clarke finally got to spit it out, and yet Clarke knew why. But she needed to hear Lexa say it again. So maybe, maybe she would have the strength to draw the blade across the older girl’s slender neck.

“You know why, Klark.” And her words are just as hushed, just as bitter. But resigned. Resigned to this moment that this was probably all their ever would be between them. Moments. Moments of pain. Moments of anger.

And the hope stuttered in her chest.

“But why me?” and Clarke leans in slightly so her dirty, open jacket scrapes against Lexa’s light armor. But she doesn’t move the knife, she doesn’t press it forward into light golden flesh. She wants to, she wants to stain the other girl in blood, blood to match her damn sash.

Lexa swallows hard, keenly aware now of the blade at her throat as her flesh trembles slightly against the cold edge. She doesn’t know how to answer, because she isn’t sure what Clarke means. Why her what? Why she left Clarke? Why she mentored Clarke? Why she kissed her? Why she…why she… and now she gets it. And it makes her very bones ache, because she is so damn tired of it all. Of always choosing her people over love. Love is weakness, this is what love has done to her. Given her a head in a box, and a girl mad with rage.

“Because I wanted you, and I could not have you.” She decides there is no point in lying, no point in deflecting. She likes to think she is a truthful person. When necessary. When convenient. She is a lie. And she sees the blonde twitch, and bare her teeth at her; and she can feel the muscles in her arm tremble as the knife scratches lightly against her throat.

“You fucking, bitch,” the blonde hisses. Obviously it was the wrong thing to say. Lexa knew it would be, but she said it anyway. “I…I hate you,” and her voice cracks and breaks on the _you_ , and Lexa knows it is just as true as it is not true.

She wonders what would dull the flickering madness in the blonde’s eyes, the pain lining her face. She thinks blood. Jus drein, jus draun. Clarke never got her blood for the mountain. Lexa never gave it to her, and she thinks it is probably time to pay for her sins, so she shifts carefully, pressing gently against the edge of the blade.

She is gratified when blue eyes widen in shock, and uncertainty flickers across the blonde’s face. She thinks for a moment Clarke will yield, but the blonde’s face hardens and her arms holds firm. Lexa presses a little bit closer, reaches out and her fingers scrape against Clarke’s jacket, and she winces when she feels blade slice into her skin.

“Take it, Klark. Take your pound of flesh. Take the blood that is owed to you.” And she presses just a little harder, her fingers scraping the waist band of Clarke’s pants now, and she wants to tug her closer, she wants to hold her. She wants to bleed out in her arms. She could live with that, die with that.

Clarke can feel Lexa’s fingers hooking into the waist band of her pants now, and for a moment she thinks Lexa will jerk Clarke toward her, forcing the knife into her throat. A messy kill. And her eyes flicker from pained green to plump lips that she remembers all too well, but her gaze is still drawn lower and she almost gasps at the blood slowly slithering across her blade.

It’s red. She knew it would be red. She’s seen enough blood to last a life time. It is dark and rich, almost the same shade as Lexa’s sash. She can’t seem to tear her gaze away from the tiny dribble as it coats her blade. She watches mesmerized as a drop pushes against the handle of the blade. Then another drop, and then another drop until it overflows, and she doesn’t know what possesses her to do it, but she reaches out her right hand quickly to catch the blood.

It drops warmly onto the pad of her fingertips. It mixes with the little bit of dirt ingrained in the whirls of her fingertips. It turns the blood dark, dirty. And she still doesn’t know why she does it but she brings her hand to her lips, and she catches wide green eyes. And in a fit of rebellion, of bitterness, she decides to do more than just smell it. She lets her fingertips rest against her lips, and she can almost taste the warm tang.

She ignores the choked “Klark,” that tumbles past Lexa’s trembling lips, and she snakes her tongue out for her first taste. She doesn’t know what she expected, but it’s warm. It’s thick and it stains her tongue and the iron bites and curdles inside her mouth. It makes her mouth water, and she things with a certain dizzy headiness that she shouldn’t want this. That she shouldn’t like the way the little drops coat her tongue, how they sink into her flesh.

And now she wants more.

She steps back, removing the blade from Lexa’s neck. She lets it drop, and her eyes are glued again the little rivulets of blood snaking their way down Lexa’s throat. And then she’s done watching, she’s done caring.

“Klark.”

Her mind is in a fog, and she reaches out grabbing Lexa’s hips. She can feel the thin fabric of her pants scrape her palms, and she flexes her hands, digging her fingers into Lexa’s hips. She hopes they leave a bruise. She is going to leave a bruise. She is going to make Lexa feel her pain.

Lexa can feel the blood slowly dripping down her throat. It wasn’t enough to cause her any great harm. But she’s gazing into blue eyes that have grown a little bit cold, or maybe it’s a little bit hot, but they aren’t simply looking at her anymore, they are prodding, plundering; and Lexa is sure Clarke can see all of her filthy lies and dark secrets. And she thinks she is glad. She is glad Clarke can see her.

“Klark, what are y-“and her words are cut off harshly by the hard, angry press of Clarke’s mouth. This was unexpected, desperately desired, but unexpected. And Lexa can’t help but grab on to Clarke’s waist, only to have the blonde bat her hands away. She growls and tries to touch Clarke again, only for Clarke to shove her hard in the chest.

“No!” snarls Clarke, and now Lexa knows what the game is. But everyone has always played by her rules, and she isn’t quite ready to surrender to Clarke. So she opens her mouth again, and she is rewarded by a rough clash of teeth, as Clarke throws her weight against her, slamming her back into the wall.

She groans, because it hurts, and it feel so good at the same time. She isn’t even sure what to call this messy tangle of tongues and scraping of teeth. If it is a kiss, she has never kissed like this before. It is new territory, and it hurts, and yet it is a perfect sting of pain, and she wants more.

And then she feels the sting of sharp teeth in her lower lip, and blood coats the tip of her tongue. She growls and shoves the blonde off of her. No one bites the Heda like that. She reaches up a hand and runs her fingers across her rapidly swelling lower lip, and pulls it back glaring at the blood. For some reason this blood bothers her more than the blood drying on her throat. This is raw, a bite of pain, but also a mark. Clarke is marking her, and part of her thrills at it, and part of her is angry. Because she is Heda, and she has always been in control in her sexual encounters.

But when she looks up and sees the smirking blonde baring her teeth at her, she realizes she is not in control. She is. The WanHeda is in control, and she looks like she might want to tear Lexa’s throat out with her teeth.

She thinks she might let her.

But now she is intrigued. She is bitter. She is hurt. She is ice. And she pushes Clarke back, knowing there is a table just a few feet away. She smirks at the irony of it.

“Who do you think you are,” she hisses as she slaps Clarke in the chest, carefully maneuvering her back towards the table. “No one marks Heda.” And just as Clarke is a few feet from the table, and just as she goes to push her back again, the blonde grabs her arm and ducks, spinning them around.

Lexa slams into the edge of the table with a grunt. She had not expected that. She narrows her eyes in anger as Clarke leans in close, pinning her against the table. The blonde is staring at the blood on her neck again, and it makes Lexa uncomfortable. It also makes her wet, and she doesn’t even want to think about why that is.

She opens her mouth to say something, but Clarke cuts her off with a whispered “shof op,” and for some reason hearing her own language tumble from the blonde’s lips makes her close her eyes and shiver a little. A shiver that doesn’t go unnoticed by Clarke.

And then a warm mouth is on her neck, and she stiffens when she feels a wet tongue lightly tracing the cut on her neck. It shouldn’t feel so good. It shouldn’t be so erotic, and yet heat blooms in her belly, and something she can’t name skitters down her spine. She growls when the blonde starts to suck on her cut.

It hurts, more than she thought it would. She is bent back a little awkwardly over the table, and she pushes forward, against the blonde. She is surprised again when the blonde pulls back, but just enough to give herself leverage, and she kicks her feet apart and hooks her leg behind Lexa’s ankle. And now she is trapped.

“Where did you learn that?” she growls. She is bent at an impossible angle, all her leverage gone, and if she tries to push Clarke off, the blonde will just kick her ankle out from under her; and she will crash to the ground.

“Niylah,” mutters Clarke against Lexa’s slightly sweaty skin. She revels in the taste of iron coating the inside of her mouth, and she can smell it mixing with the girl’s sweat and something else. Something she can’t quite identify. She ignores it, and sucks harder on the cut, knowing it hurts. She wants it to hurt, she wants it to scar. She wants Lexa to carry it with her forever.

Lexa stiffens. Niylah. And suddenly she wonders who the girl was. What was she to Clarke? She had been told of course about the trading post girl who had helped Clarke, but then she had put it out of her mind. But now she realizes that Niylah wasn’t someone she knew simply for a day or two, not if Niylah had taken the time to teach her hand-to-hand combat.

She snarls and grabs at Clarke’s face, trying to force her back so she can see her. Look into her eyes when she asks her next question, but she doesn’t need to because Clarke is already answering it.

“I fucked her. Hard. Over and over again, Lexa.” And Clarke pulls back just enough to smile menacingly at Lexa, and Lexa wants to slap her. Wants to shove her off of her, wants to tear off her clothing and take what she wants, what should be hers. But she doesn’t, because there are some lines you don’t cross. But her flesh burns hot, and her anger prickles along her sweaty skin.

“And then she fucked me. And damn, was she good,” snarls Clarke with a cruel smirk on her face. She knows just how to scrape and claw to get under Lexa’s skin. And she chuckles when she sees the angry blush blossom across Lexa’s face.

She leans in a little, close enough to whisper in Lexa’s ear, close enough to taunt her. “How does it feel knowing she got there before you?”

And this time Lexa snarls back and tries to bite Clarke, but the blonde jerks back just in time with an amused look on her face. She shakes her head in fake disappointment, “Tch tch, Lexa, such a nasty tempter.” She laughs when Lexa just glares impotently at her.

Lexa can feel the rage simmering in her gut, along with something else that is a little undefinable. Her and Clarke’s interactions had often been heightened, stressful; and she had been more than aware of her instant attraction to the Skai Girl before she had even met her. But she won’t be laughed at, she won’t be mocked. She pushes against Clarke again, but there isn’t enough force behind it to really move Clarke. She just rocks her body with the motion, and then Lexa feels her pelvis grind into her own, and her heart thumps just a little bit harder.

Clarke leans in and gently kisses along Lexa’s neck, nipping at the tendons as Lexa strains against her. “What’s wrong, Lexa?” she coos softly as she continues to gently kiss and suck along the older girl’s neck. “You didn’t like the idea of me fucking some girl?” She grins triumphantly against Lexa’s salty skin when she feels the girls hands scramble for a better purchase on her jacket. She knows Lexa wants to throw her off, but she also knows she wants her to stay even more.

She moves in for the kill, knowing it will enrage Lexa; and that is what she wants. Lexa angry and bitter, pushing back against her. She wants an excuse to sink her teeth deeply into the hot flesh pressing into her mouth. She isn’t sure why she needs an excuse, but she doesn’t want to think about the fact that maybe part of her is hesitant to cause the brunette too much pain.

“And then I pushed her head down, right where I wanted her. And damn, if she didn’t know how to use her tongue,” Clarke chuckles darkly, more than a little amused at the burning anger simmering in green eyes. Somehow she knew Lexa would be the jealous, possessive type. And now she has what she wants, and she moves her foot allowing Lexa the leverage to throw her off, but she ducks again, tangling her arms with the brunette’s, thrusting her back on the table. Lexa’s arms are bent in back of her, and her hands flail wildly for purchase, but she can’t find any.

She can feel Lexa’s feet skidding under her weight, and she knows if Lexa doesn’t find her footing that she will fall and her weight will hit her shoulders, possible tearing the muscles. She is being held up entirely by Clarke, who has planted her feet wide to take the brunt of her weight. She considers letting her fall, but she doesn’t. She can’t quite bring herself to enact that type of pain.

She slowly draws her arms back to her sides, letting Lexa down gently with a soft thump. And just as she steps back, her feet are knocked out from under her, and a snarling brunette is straddling her. She laughs when she sees the blood smeared garishly along Lexa’s lips and chin. It looks so beautiful. She looks beautiful, and her gaze softens for a moment as she stares up into green eyes that don’t feel quite so cold or bereft of feeling.

Clarke lets her hands fall back to the floor, suddenly quiet, suddenly submissive. And when Lexa bends over her, her breath hitting her face in spurts, Clarke rolls quickly, hitting her in the shoulder and knocking her off. She laughs when the brunette curses, and she jumps on flailing limbs, and then her face finds that special spot, that beautiful muscles that connects the girl’s neck to her shoulder.

And she bites. Hard. She sinks her teeth in as hard as she can. And she feels the blood well up and burst around her teeth, and lets it flow into her mouth, and she has one brief moment of clarity, and she wonders when she turned into such an animal, such a monster. But Lexa’s quick scream knocks the thought right out of her head, and she panics for a moment, thinking she might have gone too far.

Lexa doesn’t scream from the pain, but from the surprise of the attack. Not that it doesn’t hurt, because it does. And she knows it’s going to scar, and now she is truly angry, and reaches up grabs at the blonde’s face, trying to pry her teeth from her shoulder, but she can’t. So she digs her thumb, under her jawline, hitting the pressure point, and she feels the teeth immediately release and the girl groan in pain.

She’s so angry, she doesn’t even care that she hurt her. She sits up, trying to throw Clarke off her, but Clarke is now in her lap, and she tightens her thighs around her hips, and they are gripping each other’s hands, both of their arms outstretched, like some comical, crucifixion.

She stares into Clarke’s furious eyes, and the bitter curl of her lips, and Lexa stares at the splashes of red along her even, white teeth. And she thinks, she probably deserved it, her blood dribbling down the girl’s lips. She did offer her blood, didn’t she?

And she lunges forward, her mouth slightly open, because now she wants it back, and her arms come around Clarke’s waist, and her tongue is prodding harshly against the Clarke’s teeth, until she opens her mouth to let her in. She can taste her own blood in the wet warmth of Clarke’s mouth, and she bites at the girl’s tongue, and then sucks it into her mouth, soothing the pain her teeth cause.

And then Clarke groans, and grabs at her braids, and tugs her harder against herself; and Lexa’s hands are now scrabbling under Clarke’s shirt, so she can feel the warm flesh against her fingertips. And it is messy, and raw, and the sweat is trickling down her back, and Clarke’s face is flushed, and little blonde ringlets are sticking to her red cheeks.

And she is beautiful.

And it hurts.

It hurts, and Lexa thinks she should shove her off her lap and retreat, try to pull her own frayed sanity around her like a death shroud, because that is what feels like in this small, stuffy room is: death. Something is dying, but then she feels fingers on her belt and the blonde is tugging uselessly at it. And the thought flickers and dies.

Lexa knows she should stop. This isn’t how she wants Clarke. Not on a floor with blood dripping down her neck, with the girl burning cold against her flesh. Clarke is all fury and pain, but she thinks it might be the only way she will ever have her. And having her like this is better than always burning for her. But she’s a fool, and knows she will always burn for her. This girl from the stars.

But she would really rather not rut like an animal on the floor, so she tears her face away from Clarke, grabbing at her shoulders to hold her. And it’s like some tiny miracle, because Clarke actually stops and stares at her.

Lexa gestures with her chin towards a door across the room. It leads into a small room that has a bed. “Over there. Bed.” She tries to scoot out from under Clarke, anxious to get the girl into the other room. Clarke rises up on her knees, letting her scoot out from under her, and she gets to her feet crouching in front of a kneeling Clarke, and she holds out her hands to help the blonde up.

And then suddenly she is face down on the floor, and a hard, warm body is pinning her, and how the fuck didn’t she see that coming!? She curses this Niylah. Her chin hurts, from where she scraped it on the floor when she face planted, since Clarke tackled her.

And then warm breath is tickling her ear, and she can feel the blonde grinding her pelvis into her ass, and damn it feels better than it should, and her breath stutters in her throat, and she lets herself relax a bit. Let’s her muscles loosen, and she enjoys the weight of the other girl pinning her down, revels in the pressure of her hips grinding into her ass, and she clenches a little, and is rewarded with Clarke hissing in her ear.

Clarke pins her to the floor, but she isn’t foolish enough to think that she really has her pinned. Lexa is letting her, for whatever reason, but she doesn’t bother to take the time to question it. She is just glad that she isn’t struggling too much, because her position is awkward as she lifts her hips off Lexa slightly. She balances her weight on her left arm, and spread her legs on either side of Lexa’s prone body, so she can slide her right hand under Lexa.

Lexa lifts her hips slightly, and Clarke fumbles with the ties on her pants, but finally manages to rip them open. Then she pushes her hips back down into Lexa’s bottom, to push her down. She slides off slightly, but throws her right leg over Lexa’s legs to help pin her down. Not that Lexa is struggling too much, but she is about to, and Clarke smirks as she slides her hand down the back of Lexa’s pants.

She feels Lexa tense as she palms her bottom, she squeezes lightly, appreciating the girl’s muscles as they twitch under her palm. She scootches forward so she can reach Lexa’s face, and she nuzzles through the girl’s hair until she finds her ear. She licks the outer rim, and sucks on the lobe, and smiles when Lexa groans a little. She kisses down Lexa’s neck, nipping at the tendons, until she finds that sweet spot where neck joins the shoulder muscle. She sucks it and nips at it.

And then she digs her nails into her upper thigh, right below her bottom, and rakes her fingers up and over her ass as hard as she can, and she bites down hard on the muscle in Lexa’s shoulder, groaning lightly when she feels the blood burst on her tongue. She pulls back and grins in triumph as Lexa gives a small shriek, but then an elbow is flying back and catches her in her chest.

She lets out a loud groan and falls completely off of Lexa. She really should have known that was going to happen. She’s going to have a bruise, but she doesn’t mind. She laughs as furious green eyes glare down at her.

“Y-you….” Lexa just snarls, she can’t even find the words. She slams Clarke’s wrists to the floor, but the blonde just laughs, and Lexa wishes she would stop. It hurts for some reason, because all she can hear is cold, mocking laughter, and it seems to echo in the hollow of her chest.

She never wanted Clarke like this, but this is all the blonde is offering, and she decides to take it. She grabs the blonde’s chin between her thumb and fingers just hard enough to get her attention.

“Is this what you want, Clarke?” And she doesn’t give her time to answer, before she swoops down low, pressing her mouth firmly against the blonde’s. She scrapes her teeth along the girl’s lips and bites, and she is rewarded when the girl’s chapped lips crack and blood spills on to her tongue. She pulls back enough to swipe her tongue across her lips, narrowly avoiding clicking teeth.

She slips her thigh between Clarke’s legs and pushes up against her sex. She smirks when Clarke shivers, and she ignores the glare the younger girl gives her. She flexes her thigh, pushing firmly into Clarke, and she is rewarded with Clarke biting her lips and pushing back down on her thigh.

She opens her mouth to question her again, but before she can even formulate the words, Clarke knocks her arm out from under her, and she lands hard on the other girl. She chuckles at the loud oomph that erupts from Clarke. Serves the damn girl right.

She heaves herself up, so she can straddle the girl’s hips, and Clarke follows her up. Before she can quite process what is happening, Clarke has managed to grab her shirt and has literally ripped it down the middle. Her mouth drops open, and she wants to be pissed, but the show of force, the knowing smirk on the blonde’s face just makes her wet. More wet.

She chuckles, “Want something, Klark?” But her chuckle dies off quickly when Clarke simply ignores her and starts tugging on her chest bindings. She shakes her head in quiet amusement, because the blonde is growing more and more frustrated.

Clarke growls and then throws up her hands. “What the fuck, Lexa! What are these!” she huffs in exasperation, as she ineffectually tugs on them again. She looks around for the dagger, deciding simply cutting them off would be easiest.

“They wrap around, Klark.” And Lexa reached in back and untucked the end from the rows and started to unwind it from her torso, twisting in Clarke’s lap as she tried to see what she was doing. Not that she needed to see, she could do it blind, but she liked the flush that was blossoming across Clarke’s cheeks as she continued to twist slightly in her lap. Oh yes, she did love how dark her eyes were, how she was glaring at her.

Clarke reached for the ties on Lexa’s pants loosening them even more, and trying to tug them down, but she was still sitting in her lap. “Up,” she tugged hard on the pants, and Lexa pushed herself up to stand straddling Clarke. She tossed her binding away, and started to push down her pants, but stopped when she realized that Clarke still was fully clothed.

She shook her head, “No. Take off your shirt.” She chuckled when Clarke rolled her eyes and pulled off her shirt dropping it next to her, and then reached in back and flicked open her bra. She dropped that on her shirt too, and reached up and yanked on Lexa’s pants.

It took only a minute, and then Lexa was bare in front of her. Apparently the Commander preferred going commando. Clarke wasn’t going to complain. She leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the three inch scar just above her left knee. She hadn’t really meant to, but it was an old scar and it looked like it had probably hurt quite a bit at one point.

Lexa stiffened momentarily, surprised by the gentle press of blood stained lips to the scar above her knee. She let her hand drop down into Clarke’s blonde locks. They were a bit of a tangled mess, but she enjoyed the smooth feel of the hair caressing her fingers.

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment, and let herself relax slightly into the soothing touch of Lexa’s fingers. She leaned her forehead against her thigh, and she let her hands circle slender ankles. She wanted to stay here for just another moment, but this wasn’t what she had come for. She had come for pain, for blood, and she felt the fury build inside her once more when she remembered how she had pleaded with Lexa to not leave her. Her. And Clarke knew that was what she had really been doing, she had been pleading for Lexa to not walk away from her, from Clarke. Not Clarke’s people, but _her._

She pulled back, almost reluctantly, and then she jerked Lexa’s feet, and Lexa fell in a heap. Clarke scrambled on top of her, pressing her lips hard against Lexa’s neck and sucking, letting the dried blood warm her tongue.

She slid her hand down, cupping Lexa’s warm sex. She could feel how wet the older girl was. She carefully slipped two fingers up her crease, enjoying the warm silk against her rough fingertips. She slid them down again, enjoying the way Lexa’s eyes dilated, how she pushed her hips into Clarke’s hands. But then she two fingers abruptly inside of Lexa, nipping at her collarbone, and she was rewarded with Lexa squeaking and grabbing at her wrist, but she didn’t care. She knew it must have stung a bit, but she could feel how wet her sex was, how her muscles fluttered and tried to adjust to her intrusion.

She pulled out gently and pushed back in, letting her get used to her fingers before picking up her pace. She pushed her knee behind her hand to give herself more leverage as she pushed hard inside of Lexa, enjoying the way the girl’s body jerked.

She wiggled her fingers, disappointed that she couldn’t go as deep as she wanted. Her fingers weren’t long enough, and for the first time in her life she wished she had a cock. She wondered what it would be like to bottom out inside of Lexa, to truly feel her warm, wet muscles fluttering around her. She wondered what it would be like to cum inside of her, to fill her with herself. She wanted to mark her, claim her. She wanted Lexa to feel every single inch of her, and she huffed in irritation that she couldn’t do that how she really wanted.

So instead she bent her head and took a nipple in her mouth, gently tasting it, rolling it with her tongue, and just as she heard Lexa panting quietly, could feel the pound of her heart, she bit. Not too hard. She bears down just enough to get Lexa’s attention, but then she slowly increases the pressure, and she loves how Lexa jerks against her, how her hips instinctively push back down on her fingers.

She is amused by the way Lexa’s hands scrabble at the floor trying to find purchase, trying to root herself. But Clarke just increases the pressure, enjoying the way the moan finally grates through Lexa’s chest. She knows it must hurt at this point, but Lexa is just stoic enough to not tell her to stop. She slowly lets go of her nipple, nipping at it, laving it with her tongue. She can’t help but love the way it fits in her mouth, the way is lays against her tongue, plump and burning.

She curls her fingers just enough to stretch Lexa’s sex. She is so tight and hot and wet, and she wants to explore every millimeter of warm flesh. She withdraws her fingers slowly, reluctantly, ignoring Lexa’s indignant huff. She bring the fingers up to her face, staring at them curiously. They are shiny and wet. She can see the fluids on them. She sniffs cautiously, and her lips twitch at the slightly salty, musky smell. She shrugs and pops them into her mouth, with little fanfare, and Lexa just stares at her wide-eyed.

Clarke rolls her tongue around her fingers, letting Lexa’s scent and taste fill her mouth. She likes it. She knew she would, but she isn’t quite ready to admit it. She closes her eyes for a moment, her fingers still in her mouth, her other hand gently caressing Lexa’s inner thigh. There is something about her taste…just something…raw, but almost comforting. She thinks of wet, dark earth, and she thinks of the cool rain that splattered against her face for the very first time. She thinks about the salt water she choked on when she slipped and fell out of the small boat, when Niyah was attempting to teach her to sail.

“Like what you taste?”

Clarke opens her eyes, her eyes narrowing at the cocky smirk on Lexa’s face. She shrugs. “I’ve had better.” And really…the foot to her chest shouldn’t have surprised her after that comment, and now she is flat on her back with a very pissed off Heda straddling her. She can’t help but admire the fire in Lexa’s eyes, the anger that twists her brow, but most of all…she likes the pain that twists her lips. She’s hurt Lexa. And she laughs, because it makes her happy.

Even when Lexa’s hand clenches around her throat, she still laugh. Loudly. And she doesn’t stop, because really? It’s just so damn fucking hilarious that here they are, naked rolling around on the floor filled with such hate and mistrust and anger and want. And that is the best part. How much they want each other.

“Do it. Do it, Lexa.” She laughs again, searching green eyes that no longer look as angry. Lexa starts to pull her hand away, but Clarke grabs it, holding it tight against her throat squeezing Lexa’s fingers.

“Just do fucking do it, Lexa,” she whispers hoarsely. Lexa stares at her in shock and jerks her hand away, but she doesn’t jerk hard enough, and now Clarke has both hands wrapped around Lexa’s hand, holding it to her throat, squeezing until she can seep dark spots.

“Do it!” she manages to scream with the last bit of air she has, and Lexa recoils in horror, stark grief flooding her eyes. She managed to wrench her hand away, and she falls back, quickly scooting back on her butt, ignoring how her naked ass scrapes across the floor. She sits there, feet planted firmly, knees bent, her arms hanging off her knees, sweat dripping down her back, and Lexa just wants to fucking cry. But she can’t.

So instead she mumbles all that she has left, “I’m sorry. I never meant to turn you into this.” She can feel the salt burn at her eyes, and she’s a little bit sore. Her nipple is throbbing, and she focuses on the slight pain in an effort to not simply break down.

“Well you did. Now you get to live with it,” and despite the cold words, Clarke’s hands are warm on Lexa’s thighs, and the hot mouth on the inside of her knee is gentle. And Clarke crawls between Lexa’s legs, and Lexa can’t help but open them for her. She sits back slightly when she feels the fingertips gently touch her sex.

Clarke’s touch is light, almost tentative, but Lexa feels something cold curl in her belly, because it’s all a game, because Clarke’s eyes are a little dead right now. But she gives in and falls back, letting Clarke come to rest on her chest, and when one finger slides into her sex, she barely feels it. And when Clarke’s thumb gently caresses her clit, she doesn’t want to react, she just turns her head.

Clarke’s mouth is hot on her neck, but Lexa just feels cold. Because all she can think about is what she’s done, and how she never meant for this to happen, and every time Clarke touches her, it hurts a little more. She chuckles then, because that was always the point of Clarke’s little game. Make her hurt. Make her regret what she did. Make her grieve and rage alongside with Clarke.

Clarke doesn’t really feel the heat of Lexa’s muscles anymore, does feel whether or not she’s wet. She doesn’t really care. She presses her chest down into Lexa’s and licks along her neck, wetting the dried blood. There is something raw about it. The doctor in her should be freaking out right now, but the WanHeda just wants blood and revenge. And Clarke? Clarke thinks Clarke is weak.

Clarke pulls back suddenly, and she feel Lexa jerk in surprise when her finger leaves her. Clarke heaves herself to her feet, grabbing at her pants, and quickly pulling them and her underwear off. She kneels back down in between Lexa’s legs, slightly perturbed that Lexa isn’t looking at her.

“Look at me.”

Nothing. She wraps her hands around Lexa’s naked hips, digging in slightly, but Lexa doesn’t even flinch.

“Look. At. Me.” She growls. “Don’t you want to see your handy work?” Lexa finally looks at her but says nothing. Clarke stares back at her, but knows it’s useless. No one after one a staring contest against Lexa. Lexa with her impassive face, her stoic calm. Her black, dripping war paint. Stupid fucking raccoon commander. Yeah that’s right her war paint makes her look like a fucking raccoon.

She snarls a little, and then dips her head, wiggling her tongue into Lexa’s belly button. Lexa tightens and a something that sounds suspiciously like a giggle erupts from the brunette’s mouth. Clarke finds herself relaxing at the sound, and she pushes her tongue back into her belly button, tasting her, licking her; and then she realizes what she’s doing. She isn’t supposed to be tickling Lexa, she’s supposed to be fucking her. Hard.

She sucks hard on the skin around her ribs, dragging her teeth across each rib, counting them as she goes. She delights in the shudder and breathy gasp that Lexa can’t hold back. She roughly bits at her breast, and Lexa gasps in surprise and pain.

Good it was supposed to hurt.

Clarke decides that she’s taken the scenic route long enough, she really isn’t here to enjoy the dips and valleys and shadows that skip across Lexa’s skin. No, she’s here to make Lexa feel her pain. So she moves down quickly, and Lexa tenses, automatically trying to close her legs, but Clarke pushes her shoulders down between Lexa’s legs, holding her open.

She presses the flat of her tongue against Lexa’s mound, enjoying the scrape against her chapped lips. She twisted her tongue in the short hair, realizing it wasn’t nearly as long as she would have thought. Heda was very well groomed. Still it was just long enough for her to slide her tongue through the little curls, pulling gently but firmly. She covers Lexa’s sex with her mouth, and then pulls back, licking up her slit. She feels Lexa jerk against her mouth. She sucks lightly and then bites gently along the top edge of her slit, and she is rewarded with a small groan from Lexa.

And she rests her tongue against Lexa’s clit for a moment, just enjoying the feel of the tight bud. She smiles when she feels Lexa’s hips move slightly against her mouth. It’s obvious she is searching for more friction, but Clarke isn’t ready to give it to her. She tries to ignore the heat curling in her belly, and she squeezes her thighs shut, trying to find some alleviation for her tension. She can feel how slick she is, and she is mildly annoyed that touching Lexa, hearing Lexa grown, tasting Lexa has reduced her to a slippery, wanting mess.

Clarke slides her tongue between her folds, curling through the wetness. She flicks down to the source, prodding Lexa’s entrance with her tongue. Her taste is stronger here. She scoops it on her tongue, wet and heavy. She swallows, letting the salt hit her tongue. She’s sweet and salty, bitter and smooth. She tastes like rain and moonshine. She tastes like wet, dark earth, and smells slick mossy rocks.

She pushes her mouth into Lexa’s folds, eagerly letting her tongue roam along her sex, licking and nipping lightly. She straightens her tongue and flicks it against Lexa’s clit, feeling it swell against her tongue. It’s perfect, and she curls her tongue around it, playing with it, tasting it, memorizing it. And then she bites it at the root, not too hard, but just enough to make it hurt, to make Lexa feel her, to maybe leave a small bruise. Lexa hisses and reaches down trying to slap at Clarke’s head, but Clarke just grabs her hand and holds it, pinning it firmly to Lexa’s abdomen. Lexa is loath to admit that now that the initial burn has passed, the pressure on her clit is intoxicating, and she wants more.

She can feel Lexa pushing back against her tongue, and she hears the girl’s hands slap on the floor. She pushes up and then down, squeezing her shoulders further into the space between Lexa’s legs. She puts both hands on the inside of her thighs and holds her open. She slides her tongue along her inner folds, sucking the ruffled flesh into her mouth, and she is rewarded with another moan ripping from deep within Lexa’s chest.

Lexa groans as she feels Clarke’s hot mouth slide through her folds. It is messy and wet, and there is more teeth involved then she normally prefers, but she can’t deny the burn that is slowly crawling through her aching muscles. She can feel it on the periphery, but it is just out of reach, and she tenses, bucking hard against Clarke’s face, trying to let go, and just let it happen. It doesn’t.

“Inside,” she mutters. She doesn’t usually like to be penetrated. She’s tight, and sometimes it hurts, but she craves that scratching pain. She lifts her hips against Clarke’s face, hoping she gets the hint. She knows Clarke does, when she hears the chuckle.

“So impatient. I will fuck you, when I’m good and ready, He-da!” Clarke chuckles again at the irritated snort that Lexa doesn’t bother to stifle. She glances back down at Lexa’s shiny, pink sex. The color reminds her of the pictures she once saw of cotton candy. She shifts down a little more and prods at Lexa’s entrance with her tongue. She lets her gloss rest on her tongue, and she realizes she could get used to this. She imagines this is what cotton candy might taste like: smooth and rich, hot and salty.

She pulls back and glances up at Lexa who whines at the loss of Clarke’s tongue. The girl now has both hands thrown over her face, and she’s shifting on the floor, obviously wanting something, wanting more. Clarke grins wickedly, and without any warning, she slides two fingers inside of Lexa.

She is immediately rewarded not only with a yelp, but with Lexa clapping her legs closed hard against her head. She knows she probably deserves that. She knows it must hurt a bit, but she doesn’t care, and apparently Lexa likes the burn, because her legs fall back open, and she groans.

She is so tight. So damn tight and hot and slippery. Clarke is reminded again how she wishes she could go deeper, could touch all of Lexa. She looks up and her gaze falls on an object a couple feet away. She stares hard at the oblong shape. The handle is eight inches long, perfectly smooth with a metal tip and metal guard. It’s perfect.

She pulls out of Lexa with a squelch, drops a kiss on her sex, and rolls to the side, her hand grasping the object. She rolls back over, clambers across Lexa’s leg, before she can really figure out what Clarke is doing. It’s long and smooth. Sharp and edged. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to feel so good. It’s perfect.

Lexa leans up on her arms in order to see what Clarke is doing, and her eyes widen comically, as she stares at the knife.

Knife. That’s right. Clarke’s knife.

She feels trepidation building in her chest when Clarke looks up and smirks at her. “No. No, Clarke.” She sits up more and starts to scoot back, but Clarke throws herself on top of Lexa’s legs, and looks up at her with an angelic pout.

“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t trust me?” She coos. She smiles and licks her lips, enjoying the fear in Lexa’s eyes. She slides her knees under her and places warm, gently kisses on Lexa’s belly. It’s an uncomfortable position as she is hunched over, and Lexa is mostly sitting up. She glances up at Lexa again, but the fear is gone, and in its place is a look of devastation.

It’s raw, unfettered, and something in Clarke’s belly roils, and suddenly she isn’t sure what she is doing anymore. Is this really what she wants to do? She bites her lip, but she is surprised when Lexa curls her hand around Clarke’s hand that is holding the knife.

“I’m tired of fighting you, Klark. I’m sorry.” And the tear drips down her eye, and she thinks she’s been holding it in for a long time. “I trust you,” she whispers, and she lets go of Clarke’s hand and leans back on to the cold floor. Her body is tight and rigid, and she almost yelps when she feels the warm, wet mouth on her sex, gently coaxing her clit from its hood. She can’t help the groan, doesn’t really bother to hide it.

She tenses when she feels the cold nub of the handle brush between her lips, press against her clit. She has to admit it actually feels good, and when she feels the smooth handle at her entrance, she forces herself to relax. She is going to have faith that Clarke isn’t really going to hurt her. Not like this. She can hear Indra’s voice in her ear telling her she is a fool. And yeah, Indra is probably right.

She whimpers when it stretches her and slides in. It hurts a little, she isn’t used to being stretched so. She whimpers more when she feels what she thinks is two fingers slide in under the hilt in her sex. She realizes immediately, Clarke is doing it to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.

“Don’t push back. Let me do all the work.” Her voice is surprisingly gentle, sincere. It reminds Lexa of the old Clarke, the Clarke she hadn’t ruined yet.

Lexa can only nod, as she slowly grows accustomed to the hilt being buried inside of her. She can feel the guard pressing against her sex, and that is when she realizes that if she pushes back, she will cut Clarke, possibly very deeply. And she smiles, because it isn’t just her placing her trust on the line. She relaxes a little more, and is rewarded with a hot mouth on the inside of her thigh.

And then it moves. She groans at the feel of the hilt dragging out of her sex, only to gently push back in. The tempo is smooth and gentle, not too hard, not too deep. But after a moment, it speeds up. She can feel it sliding through her sex, and her muscles are gripping it, trying to pull it deeper. She groans, and reaches down blindly, her hair grabbing at Clarke’s hair. Amazingly, Clarke lets her.

And Clarke fucks her with the hilt of her dagger with long, deep thrusts. Lexa can feel it building, the pressure in her sex, and a small ball unwinds and flows up into her limbs, and she gasps as her heels dig into the floor. She groans deep in her chest, and pants hard, as the orgasm rushes over her. A wet mouth closes around her clit, and she whimpers and cries, because it burns and feels so good, and she wants it to stop, and she never wants it to end. Because once it’s over, Clarke is going to leave.

She can feel Clarke coaxing her through the orgasm, trying to give her and Lexa just lays there on her back, her limbs spread uselessly on the floor. She doubts she can stand. She doesn’t want to. She stares up at the ceiling, mentally cataloguing all her aches and pains. She can feel the blood crusted over on her shoulder when she moves it slightly. It pulls at the small wounds. It is going to scar, in a perfect print of Clarke’s teeth. It is all she will probably ever have of Clarke.

And then she feels the movement at her side, and her eyes fall on the expanse of back as Clarke sits up and starts rummaging for her clothing. And it hurts, and tears sear at Lexa’s eyes, and she refuses to let them fall. But the hollow ache in her chest is growing, pushing against her ribs, and she is sure, any minute she will hear her bones crack. She can only hope that they will pierce her heart and put her out of her misery, because she doesn’t think she can bear to watch Clarke leave.

And she imagines this cold ache that is seeping through her bones is probably how Clarke felt when she walked away at the Mountain, and she curses herself, and she curses her people, and she curses the Mountain, and she curses Clarke. But most of all, she curses Heda for choosing her.

“Don’t leave. Please.” The words slip past her lips, before she can stop them. She hears them. The grating, broken sound of her voice. And she is weak. Weak for Clarke, and she closes her eyes, because she can’t bear to see her leave.

Clarke stills. She hadn’t expected that. Wasn’t ready for it, so she carefully picks up her shirt, her back still to Lexa who still just lays there. She starts to pull the shirt on, but she stops. She can’t quite seem to pull it over her head, even though it is halfway up her arms now. Something is burning in her chest, and she runs her tongue over her teeth. She sucks the rusted grit off of them, and swallows the hardened bits of Lexa.

Lexa. God she hates her.

“I hate you,” she whispers, and she feels the brush of fingertips against the small of her back. She closes her eyes, letting her arms fall into her lap. She’s tired. She’s tired of running, of fighting, of bleeding, of hating. She slowly peels the shirt off her arms and lets it drop to the side.

She deserves better than this. There are no do-overs, no rewinds. You take what you can get, and you fight and die for it. Because this is all there will ever be, and maybe she is still luckier than most, even with the nightmares and the madness that lurks along the edges of her mind. Because she has blood in her mouth, and dirt under her fingernails, and scars buried in her flesh. She’s still here. A brief tragedy of flesh. But she’s still here.

So she lays back, letting the hand at the small of her back guide her down, and she turns and lets her head fall onto Lexa’s chest. She smiles at the small “oomph,” and she slides her palm across Lexa’s sticky stomach. Her nose wrinkles at the smell of dried cum and old blood, but she revels in it at the same time. The room is hot and wet, and their musk hangs in the air. She presses her lips to warm flesh, and shivers when she feels a long arm wrap around her shoulders, and a hand slowly slide over her hand that rests on Lexa’s stomach.

Lexa can barely believe she is still here, but she can’t help the smile that breaks across her face. Because she heard it. She heard it in Clarke’s growls and moans, she felt it in sharp tug of Clarke’s teeth in Lexa’s ruined flesh.

_I still love you._

“Your war paint makes you look like a fucking raccoon. I just thought you should know.” Clarke smirks charmingly at her, and Lexa just stares at her in disbelief, and then she laughs. She can’t help it. It is so preposterous that in the middle of this…this whatever they are doing, Clarke would decide to point that out. When she isn’t even wearing war paint. She shakes her head, and then she sees it out of the corner of her eye. A smile. It’s small, but it’s there kissing the corners of Clarke’s mouth, and it’s real and it’s warm.

And maybe, just maybe that is something she can build on.

 


End file.
